


Galahad's Fall

by Leemi



Category: The Order: 1886
Genre: M/M, Not really good, dont even bother reading this, i just had to finish it even tho its complete crap, lucan alastair, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 06:44:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13992687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leemi/pseuds/Leemi
Summary: Galahad fell hard. Metaphorically and literally.About one night in the prison.





	Galahad's Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Not-bedad or proof-read. will edit it later...maybe. now i just want to publish it finally  
> anyway..how to write smut..? help

“Do you trust this person?” Lakshmi asked him once about the traitor.  
“Yes. With my life.” He would answer the queen without even hint of hesitation. 

And ironically, just few hours after the conversation he stared at the face of said person in disbelief, not really wanting to understand what was he witnessing. Chancellor's son, the knight commander, his trusted friend. A traitor. He couldn't even react properly as he watched the scene in front of him. As if time itself froze around them, making everyone perfectly still, making him observing it with agonizing clarity. Only when the rebel queen made her move to the window, mobility finally returned to his limbs. He gripped handle of his dagger purely by reflex and threw it at Lord Hastings (no, not Lord Hastings, Jack the Ripper, murderer, a vampire), who was trying to stop her, without any second thoughts.

The blade sunk into his flesh with satisfying sound of Hasting's painful growl and Lakshmi was free. Thank God for at least small miracles. Now he was alone. With trained knight and obviously aged vampire. Galahad had escaped death numerous times, but this time...it didn't look good. Even fall of Agamemnon was walk in paradise. Maybe because he knew who he could trust back then.

And then happened everything at once. Alastair grabbed him, short scuffle followed by chase through the manor and horrifying realization. A lycan. There was a lycan in their ranks. But before he could do anything about that, main door burst open revealing furious Igraine with Perceval. Galahad inadvertently looked away, there was so much hurt in her eyes. So much anger. She must feel also betrayed, same as him. And Marquis was unreadable as always. 

During trial he didn't even try to struggle or speak for his defence. He knew evidence was against him, same as almost every committee in the Council. Isi hasn't looked at him at once. The only one who seemingly tried to defend him was that traitor. He stared at him with frown as he with his charm and silver tongue spoke up for his sake. But after a while it became obvious he was just playing his role of the benevolent Knight Captain. Bloody Alastair, everyone loved him. Why wouldn't they...

So he waited patiently, listening as “guilty” left everyone's mouth. Even Isi's. But he wasn't surprised. Or bitter. She grew into fine woman. It was weird watching Perceval, even though this wasn't Sebastian but Laffayete. It still somehow felt as if his old friend judged him together with him.

Lord Chancellor stepped closer and Grayson closed his eyes inhaling deeply. He could feel as he tore off chain with Blackwater from his neck. “The penalty is death.”

\-------

And darkness. Only smell of rotting hay and stale water. Grayson, for he was no longer Sir Galahad, was in catacombs enough times to recognise the stench. The only reason was that he was now on the opposite end, getting private accommodation in the cell just for himself. The irony almost made him smile. Almost.

In retrospect he should have seen it coming. He should have, but he didn't. Alastair's presence on Agamemnon together with Lord Hastings was enough to indicate something was off. However Sebastian's death fogged every rational thought he could have in mist of blind rage and desire to take revenge. 

Perceval taught him once not to trust blindly, but who could have anticipate a traitor in their own ranks. A lycan... And what made matters even worse he was Lord Chancellor's son. Did that mean the whole order was tainted? Was the Chancellor on it too? Was....Isi? No, there was no use to get into baseless speculations. He was in prison. He will be executed in due time. He lost. He had to face it, rather sooner or later, before he actually had some head to face anything.

\------  
Grayon's first sleep in the cell was short and rather rudely interrupted by guards, to be more precise by guard's boot slamming against his abdomen. His eyes shot open and heaved, his hands grabbing the leg firmly purely by reflex. But then another boot joined and pain flared up around his back. He coughed, letting his arms fall down and they were quickly shackled up. 

“Fecking bastard.” One guard spat on him. He missed. Grayson watched as it got absorbed to the ground right next to his face where his head was kept firmly by pair of hands. He didn't struggle, there was no use to it, so he patiently waited in silence till they were done with polishing their steel shoe tips on his shirt. Or what was left of it.

His breathing was shallow. Dangerously shallow. And his chest burned with every breath he shakily took. He recognized the symptoms. Few broken ribs, and maybe a concussion. He would live through another day. No, they were too cautious to let him die. He had to be an example to the others.

“Fecking lordy bastard.” This time the kick was aimed at his chin and he could definitely hear something breaking. Something more than his pride. Broken pride would not leave string of blood pouring down from his mouth. No, this only left him iron taste on his tongue and....  
and...

nothing.

\---

When ex-knight woke up again, he didn't see anything. Not because he went blind or because of the dark. Something damp was on his head. It was actually soothing. Nice. He hasn't felt like that in weeks. A soft moan went through his lips and he reached to face only to find a soft cloth on it. He pulled it away carefully, trying to sit up as much as his broken ribs and sore muscles allowed him to.

When Grayson was just a child, Sebastian used to sit next to him in his room, his faint smell lingering on a handkerchief he had put on his forehead after particularly vigorous training. Sebastian, knight Perceval, the mentor, his best friend and a partner. The memory of the silence in the room only penetrated by quiet chirping of morning drizzle took him to a place ages ago. It didn't exist any more. Just in his head. And Sebastian's. His smell still remaining here...

No. That was not right. Sebastian Malory was dead. He found his body in wreck of the airship and the Crystal Palace.

Dead...

The Smell was still here...

Not his smell...  
Someone was here beside him. Watching him from the shadows...

That realization struck harder than the kicks he endured few hours ago and he sat up, ignoring sharp pain flaring up in his abdomen.   
“What the hell are you doing here?” he growled silently, looking the figure suspiciously as it leaned away from the wall where it was watching him for god-knows-how long.  
“You may not believe me but I never wanted to see you like this” Alastair cocked his head. “I always respected you, you know. But here you are. Going to die because of some misplaced personal honour...”  
“Yeah, right,” he spat. “At least I actually am a person. Unlike you”

The lycan crossed the distance between them in just two quick steps so Grayson could finally properly see his face in the dim light of the cell.   
“I'm doing what's best for my kind. I am ensuring their survival. I would kill you right now, if it meant I could save them.” he snarled, now just inches close to Grayson.

His fault. Galahad always hated someone blatantly underestimating him and Grayson did too. He grabbed his collar to tug him forward, meeting his head halfway. Forehead to be more precise. Everything went white for a second upon impact but it was definitely worth it. Especially when he saw Alastair hiss and stumble backwards with furious expression. 

“You...animal.” Said the animal while fixing his hair.  
“You're one to say.”  
“I was hoping to have a civilized discussion with you but I guess you can't really expect from an old dog to learn new tricks.”  
“Really...did you just compare me to a dog?..You?” Irony of that almost made him snort. If it didn't hurt so much.

This time it was him who was pulled up bit his shirt collar, only to fall down again as the fabric ripped and stayed in his hand. This freedom however didn't last for too long since a hand found its was to him again. This time Alastair grabbed his hair slamming him against the wall. Grayson just wished they would leave his head alone. It was banged just enough. Let alone his sight started to blur dangerously.  
“You just need to have a last word, don't you?” He growled “You and your holier-than-thou knights. Don't you think I haven't seen you after Malory's death? You were like unchained beast, shooting anyone who stood in your way? And you think you're better than me? Better than us?” The grip tightened which made Grayson hiss silently.

He had never seen Alastair in such state. He was usually so composed, so calm and now he shook slightly with barely contained anger. He could swear he saw pupils narrow.  
“At least...I...I'm not...a killer.” he pushed through his teeth.  
“Not a killer? Do you even hear yourself? How many people had died because of your foolish quest for revenge?”  
“Rebels. And Hasting's people...your people. They weren't innocent.” He did what he had to do. Nothing more and nothing less.  
“And that makes it acceptable?”   
“Oh, don't act as a saint now. You are a monster. Not me.”  
“I don't act as anything...unlike you.” 

Another thing Grayson didn't like was when someone used his own words against him. Or holding him against a wall. “Go to hell.” He snapped, trying to uppercut him with all remaining strength he had, suffice to say it wasn't really much. His hand weakly fell on Alastair's chin, it was more of a gentle pat than a proper hit. 

A mistake really. Since the free hand grabbed him by the throat now, pulling him uncomfortably high of the prison hammock then thrown mercilessly on the ground again. Few more ribs cracked under the impact. If he was angry before, now he was straight pissed.  
“Why don't you fuck off Knight Commander? I'm quite busy waiting for my death sentence.”  
“I'm confident we can make that waiting shorter...Grayson.” Alastair called him by his name already before numerous times, but now the tone held nothing but contempt, a reminder of his failure. He was Galahad no longer. 

Right now it somehow hurt more than anything the Knight Commander, the Lord Chancellor and the guards could inflict.

“Do it then. I have nothing to loose. It's the reason why you came here isn't it? To silence me.”

“...death would be too easy on you, besides... who in the right mind would trust you?” He smirked after a moment of silence, slowly unfastening his jacket. “No ser knight. There is something better in store for you.” Tone of his voice changed again, dropping an octave lower. It almost was enough to make Grayson squirm. 

“What...?” He watched unbelievably as D'Argyll calmly stripped himself. An action, which highly contrasted with practically furious look on his face. “What are you doing?”  
“I don't like getting blood on my clothes.” He replied simply, disregarding any Grayson's attempts to stand up and look imposing. “It's always so difficult to clean it afterwards.”

“Get the fuck out of here, you traitor.” He was looking anywhere but the painfully nude figure in frong of him.  
“If I remember correctly you are the traitor.” They were now only few inches apart, Grayson desperately trying to stand upright. When he got so close so fast? But his question was quickly answered as instead of deep grey eyes, yellow whites with narrow pupils peered at him.

“You sonuva-” before he could finish the sentence, although in this situation the curse was strangely appropriate, he found himself pressed against the wall once more with sharp claws digging into skin on his throat.   
“I'm getting weary of your dog jokes, Grayson.” His voice became more guttural to the point of simple growling, skin now completely covered in hair. “What about you became my bitch now?”

Teeth sunk into his shoulder and just a remaining sense of pride held Grayson from screaming, while the other hairy hand ripped his shirt off. He didn't really have time to protest as the creature immediately used what was left of the fabric to gag him.

After that everything shrunk to just noises. He barely registered anything else outside of that. Heaving sound of ragged breathing, growling, splatters of blood falling down, flesh smacking against flesh...

\-----

Grayson opens his only to see nothing once more. He tries to reach his face with trembling hands fighting a deja-vu feeling creeping up his spin. It was there again. Soft and pleasantly cool fabric of a handkerchief laying gently on his face. He pulled it away slowly, clutching it in his hand. Embroidered A.A. initials mocked him every time his sight fell upon them. Just two letters. Two seemingly insignificant letters. 

He growled and crumpled the cloth into fist, throwing it on the ground. He won't be mocked. He will make his own way. He won't let The Order rule his life any more. But first he needs to get out of here.   
So he waited.  
And waited.  
Until the shackles finally snapped.

 

\-----  
“You forget, Lord Chancellor, I'm as good as dead already.”  
Last thing he remembers before his body hit freezing Thames was Igraine's desperate scream. His name. He smiled weakly. She grew into a fine woman. Stubborn, but fine. Kinda like him. She will perhaps understand after a while. He was at peace. After that the water devoured him whole.


End file.
